


JAOA: Promises in the Dark

by BlackRose (darthneko)



Series: JAOA [28]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-09
Updated: 2002-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthneko/pseuds/BlackRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coping in the wake of disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	JAOA: Promises in the Dark

**JAOA: Promises in the Dark  
Year of the Republic 25,006**

* * *

Darkness and the sweet, heavy scent of Corellian brandy met Han as the door to their quarters slid back. He paused there, the dim lights of the corridor behind him cutting into the darkened interior in pale swatches of illumination across the floor that told him nothing. "Master?"

Silence answered him. Stepping hesitantly forward, Han let the door slide shut behind him, the darkness engulfing the rooms thickly. There was a light panel beside the door and he reached for it, meaning to dial the lights up slightly.

The surge of the Force crackled across his hand almost like lightning, snapping out to knock him away from the lights even as the low, roughened voice broke the silence. " _Don't_."

Flexing his throbbing hand, Han kept still, holding his breath. No other response came, the room lapsing back into the silence. The windows had been dimmed, not even the bright lights of the city daring to pierce the darkness of the room. His eyes could make out nothing, try though he might. Letting the breath out slowly, he stepped gingerly towards the sitting couch, his feet knowing the layout of the room without hesitation.

He found the older man by touch, his outstretched hand encountering the subtle warmth of the other body before his fingertips brushed the soft, embroidered fabric of a dress tunic. He drew back then, sinking down to the couch beside Anakin, his hands knotted in his lap. His own chest was tight around his lungs, words and gestures failing him, but when the other did nothing he reached out again, his hand slipping lightly around the shape of one tense shoulder.

Anakin trembled beneath the touch, leaning forward abruptly and breaking the connection. Han heard the soft clink of glass at the region of the floor, felt the motion as Anakin sat back and the wet sound of the man's swallow, the scent of the brandy sharp and strong. His Master's voice, emerging quietly from the darkness, held a tightness that not even the alcohol could ease. "You were there?"

Han nodded, the gesture invisible, his voice coming out thinly in the dark between them. "Yes."

Silence again, but for the quiet slosh of the brandy. Han wet his lips, searching for words that seemed incredibly paltry no matter how he phrased them. "It was well done."

A chuffed sound of ridicule, short and sharp. "Well staged, you mean." Again, the faint sound of liquid. Han reached out, his own hand catching the older man's where it curved around the brandy bottle, feeling the trembling tension there.

"That isn't going to help," he said softly.

For a moment he thought the Knight would fight him, but Anakin let Han slip the bottle from his grasp without resistance. "You're right," he said as the boy leaned to set the brandy back on the floor, out of easy reach. "Nothing's going to help."

There was an emptiness in his voice, beyond the tight tension, beneath the rough tone of strain. Han closed his eyes, wishing there was any easy way to ease that pain. "Master..."

"Han." Short, clipped, the syllable of his name demanded his obedience. "Don't." No more then that, just exactly the way the older man had pushed him from the light panel, sharp and unforgiving. A single word that locked him away, a shield wall slammed down between them.

"Don't _what_?" The words slipped out before he could think better of them, bearing their own sharp edge of tension. Han reached out, grasping Anakin's shoulder once more, his fingers digging tight. "Don't care? Master -"

The Knight's larger hand closed over his between one breath and the next, peeling his grasp away with easy strength and slamming his hand back against the wall behind the couch. " _Stop_ it," Anakin growled, his voice breaking as he drew in a shaky breath. "Don't. Just go. _Go._ "

"No." The word was calm, quiet, and deceptively strong. Han felt it leave his lips like a solid thing, the darkness around them coming into smooth, crystal clarity of lines unseen with the physical eye. "I'm not leaving you."

He felt the tremor sweep the Knight as though it moved through his own flesh, a sharp shiver as the wall quivered. Anakin released him as though burned, surging abruptly to his feet. "Fine," he snapped. "Do what you like. I'll be in my room."

The darkness made sight impossible, but his hands knew without thought where to grasp, locking to the larger man's wrist and bringing him to an abrupt halt. "Let me help," Han demanded softly, determined to hold on. "Anakin... don't shut us all out like this. Please."

The Knight was tense in his grasp, rigid and unmoving. "Nothing is going to 'help'," he said, each word sharp and deliberate. "Let go, Han."

"No." The moment of connection to the Force was fading but he could still feel the older man, like a tight, angry swirl of fire that brushed at his skin. Quelling the tremor in his hands, Han threaded his fingers through Anakin's larger grasp, pulling the unwilling hand against his chest. "You're not alone."

"What would you know of it?" the Knight snarled.

Han closed his eyes, reminding himself that the harshness was born of grief and anger, letting it slide away. He had to swallow before he found his own words, uttering them quietly into the darkness. "I know if feels like I'm losing you."

The tremor came again, harder then before. Feeling the wall begin to buckle, Han held tighter, the words tumbling from his lips. "Master... It's over. You've done your duty. The Senate, the Council, Leia... it's _over_. It's done. You don't have to do this any more."

The hand within his shivered. "What am I supposed to do, then?" Anakin asked, the words leaden. "I can't..."

"You can," Han said firmly. Taking a breath, he tightened his grasp and tugged, letting the breath go only as the taller man slowly allowed himself to sink once more down to the couch. Reaching out blindly, his fingertips touched the feathery fringes of short cropped hair and the taut, rigid lines of a clenched jaw. "Master... Let go. Let it go. I promise..."

Callous tipped fingers pressed tight to his lips, silencing his voice. "Don't," Anakin said, his voice so rough Han could only barely make it out. "Don't make promises you can't keep. I... I can't..." he broke off, drawing in a ragged breath, his free hand clenching tight against Han's shoulder.

Han covered the hand brushing his face with his own, leaning forward slightly to press his lips to the man's trembling palm. "Let go," he repeated, his breath warming the skin. "You don't have to do this alone."

The convulsive tightening of Anakin's fingers tangled in the length of the boy's braid. Each sound in the darkness was amplified, loud and isolated, which only made the near silence of Anakin's indrawn sob even worse. Han reached out, trembling, his hands coming to rest against the sides of the older man's face. The Knight shuddered, throat working without sound, body tight but unresisting as Han drew him down until the taller man's head rested against his own shoulder.

Feeling his own chest tight, unshed tears burning against his closed eyelids, Han pressed his cheek to the older man's. "Not alone," he whispered, voice breaking slightly. "I promise."

The Knight's arms came up, clutching at him, and Han held him tighter. The man grieved without sound, only the occasional soft hitch of his breath and the bruising clench of his hands betraying his emotion. Han buried his own face in the clean scent of the man's short hair, tears trickling wet down his cheeks. "I promise," he repeated softly, opening himself wide to the aching cold depths of Anakin's misery, offering solace in sharing. "I promise."

[...to next stage]


End file.
